


Phantom

by orphan_account



Series: Phantom [1]
Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Kinda, Phantom!Lock, Sherlolly - Freeform, balletlock, phantomlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:44:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3302858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was eight when her father died. Twelve when he sent her the Angel of Music. Eighteen when she met her strange, masked, blue-eyed angel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phantom

She was eight years old when she lost her father. Eight years old when she was brought to live in the ballet dormitories of the Opera Populaire, London. Eight years old when her father, on his deathbed, told her, "When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to watch over you.

But no Angel came. Every night she prayed, prayed to her father, prayed to the angel he promised her. Asking where he was, why hadn't he come to her yet? For four years, she prayed. She never lost hope though. Her father promised her. Her angel would come, she knew it. If she was a good girl, and danced her very best,angel would would come. So she prayed and danced.

She was alone one night in the dormitory. She was ill. Lonely. Bored. She began to sing. And from her came a voice she didn't know she possessed. She sang and sang to the empty room, imagining herself on a stage in front of a crowd of people. Though she was alone. No one was listening. No one cared. Or so she thought. That night, she was visited in her dreams, by the Angel of Music.

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The rehearsals for "Hannibal" by Chalemeau were well underway, the entire ensemble present on the stage practicing for their opening night. Of course, Molly wasn't playing any kind of significant role. She never had, just a chorus girl and ballet dancer. In this particular opera, she was a slave girl alongside her friend Meg. The leading lady's voice rang out throughout the opera house, many people inwardly cringing at the, for lack of a better word, noise.

"This trophy from our saviours, from the enslaving force of Rome!"

She holds up the prop in her hand. A bloody severed head. Nice. There's a flurry of activity still on the stage, scenery being finished and props being exchanged between stagehands. Molly stands off to the sidelines with the other girls; they don't want to get in the way. They also don't want to be anywhere near Sally Donovan when she hits a high note. The female chorus beings, thankfully, masking the leading lady's shrieking.

"With feasting and dancing and song, tonight in celebration, we greet the victorious throng, returned to bring salvation!"

Molly sighed. She was tired. And bored. So bored. Day in, day out. She preferred to be sleeping. That was when her angel visited her. The Angel of Music, the one her father promised her. Such wonderful music he brought her. Lovely and strange angel. The men's chorus began.

"The trumpets of Carthage resound! Hear, Romans, now and tremble! Hark to our step on the ground!

The rehearsal continued on, Philip Anderson stepping onto the stage in the role of Hannibal. He was as awful as that Sally. But Lestrade wouldn't get rid of them. Probably because he was scared he'd be murdered if he did. Not by adoring fans of course, but by the two leads themselves. She was awful woman, and he an equally awful man.

As she thought about the opera owner, it was just at that moment that he, along with a man and a woman, walked out onto the stage.

"This way, this way! Rehearsals, as you see, are underway for a new production of Chalumeau's Hannibal."

The three halt centre stage and Lestrade calls for everyone's attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen, some of you may have already perhaps met Dr John Watson and Mrs Mary Watson!"

The conductor, Reyer, interrupts.

"I'm sorry Mr Lestrade, but we are rehearsing, could you wait a minute please?"

Lestrade looks slightly irritated, but not at all surprised at the small man's outburst.

"Apologies, Mr Reyer...please do continue..."

The rehearsal resumes, but the three do not move away from centre stage, getting awfully in the way. Lestrade is muttering to the two, giving them information on everyone.

"Philip Anderson, our principal tenor. He does play so opposite Sally Donovan."

Mrs Hudson is standing stage left, watching her dancers, and looking exasperated. She was a strict woman. She could be nice, a mother figure to some even, but so very strict. And she'd had enough of these newcomers. She bangs her cane against the wooden floor of the stage.

"Please! Kindly move to one side, my girls are trying to dance!"

A startled Lestrade gasps, and ushers his guests stageright.

"Sorry, so sorry Mrs Hudson!" 

As soon as they're out of earshot of the strict old lady, Lestrade resumes speaking to the Watsons.

"Mrs Hudson, our ballet mistress. I don't mind confessing, Mr Watson, but I shan't be sorry to be rid of the whole blessed business..."

"I keep asking you, why exactly are you retiring?"

The grey haired man deflects and ignores the question. He's not telling them. They'd call off the whole damned deal if they knew. He could not have that.

"We take a particular pride in the excellence of our ballet here at the Opera Populaire!"

Young Meg Hudson seems to be their focus, and Molly breathes a sigh of relief inwardly, concentrating on dancing the complicated routine.

"Who's that girl, Lestrade?"

"Her? Meg Hudson, Mrs Hudson's daughter. Promising dancer, Mrs Watson, very promising."

Molly is so busy eavesdropping on the conversation that she doesn't realise she's fallen out of step before it's too late. Mrs Hudson bangs her cane against the stage.

"You! Molly Hooper! Concentrate girl!"

John leans towards Lestrade.

"Hooper? Anything to Gustave Hooper, the violinist?"

"His daughter. Always has her head in the clouds, I'm afraid."

They continue to whisper and mutter as the performance reaches it's end. A life sized mechanical replica of an elephant is pushed into the centre of the stage, and Anderson is lifted onto it.

"Once more into my welcoming arms my love returns in splendour!" Sally sings, her shrill voice piercing eardrums all around.

"Once more to those sweetest of charms, my heart and soul surrender!" Anderson sings in answer before the whole chorus joins in.

"The trumpeting elephants sound, hear, Romans, now and tremble! Hark to their step on the ground, hear the drums! Hannibal comes!"

As the chorus ends, Lestrade claps his hands, calling everyone to attention.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention please? As you know, for some weeks there have been rumours of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these were all true, and it is my pleasure to introduce to you the new owners of the Opera Populaire, Doctor John Watson, and Mrs Mary Watson!"

There's a polite applause, and Donovan sidles over, all simpering and sweet.

"Ah, sir and madam, let me introduce Sally Donovan, our leading soprano for five seasons now."

"Yes we've...erm...experienced...all of your...greatest...performances..."

"And Mr Philip Anderson of course."

"A pleasure sir."

Mary speaks up suddenly, clearly wanting to get on the good side of the flighty soprano.

"If I remember rightly, Elissa has a rather fine aria in act III of Hannibal...I was wondering if you would oblige us with a private rendition?"

As she sings, many stagehands plug their ears, and everyone else tries bravely to conceal the physical pain Donovan's shrill voice brings to them. There's a creak. And then a crash. A large backdrop crashes to the floor, cutting Donovan off from half of the cast. People rush forward to help, many screaming in terror.

"He's here, the Phantom of the Opera! He's with us! It's the opera ghost!"

Anderson looks up towards fhe rigging, shaking his fist at the stagehands up there.

"You idiots!"

Lestrade helps Sally up, looking thoroughly unhappy.

"Buquet! Bring me Buquet!

"Please sir!" Said man is reeling the backdrop up again, "Sir it wasn't me I wasn't at my post, God as my witness! Please sir there's no one here, and if there is it must be a ghost!"

John shakes his head, turning to Donovan.

"These things happen..."

She looks enraged. Beyond enraged. Downright scary, like she's about to go on a rampage.

"These things...do...happen...yes these things happen and do you," She jabs a finger at Lestrade, "Do you stop them from happening? NO! So until these things stop happening, this thing does not happen! Philip! We're leaving!"

She storms off, Anderson following closely behind her. Lestrade sighs.

"Well I don't think there's much more for me to assist you with, sir, madam, if you need me I shall be in Frankfurt!"

He makes a quick exit, leaving the flabbergasted pair of new owners in his wake. The ensemble look to them nervously before John clears his throat.

"I'm sure she'll be back!"

Mrs Hudson scoffs disbelievingly.

"Oh you think so? I have a message, sir, from the opera ghost."

A fearful murmur runs through the crowd of people. Mary shakes her head, tutting.

"God in heaven, you're all obsessed!"

"He merely welcomes you to his opera house and commands you to continue leaving box five empty for his use. He also reminds you that his salary is due."

"His salary!?"

"Mr Lestrade used to pay him £2000 every month, perhaps you can afford more with Lord Moriarty as your new patron."

At the mention of this name, excited chatter starts up amongst the girls. Molly frowns and bites her lower lips. Lord Moriarty...surely not...-not James...not her James...? No couldn't be...has to be someone else.

"Mrs Hudson, I had hoped to make that announcement myself..."

"Will he be at the performance tonight sir?"

"Yes, in our box."

Mary clears her throat nervously.

"May I ask...who is the understudy for this role?"

Mr Reyer make a noise of utter woe and despair.

"There is no understudy, the production is new!"

"Ooh! Ooh!" Meg waves her hands wildly, "Molly Hooper could sing it, sir!"

"The chorus girl?"

"She's been taking lessons from a great teacher!"

"From whom?"

Molly shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, very aware of all the eyes on her.

"I don't know sir..."

"Oh not you as well!" John turns to his wife, "Can you believe it, a full house and we'll have to cancel!"

"Wait!" Mrs Hudson interjects, "Let her sing. She has been well taught."

Reyer pauses for a moment, before sighing.

"Alright, from the beginning of the aria then..."

Molly steps forward uneasily, looking clearly unsure of herself. She begins to sing quietly.

"Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye. Remember me, once in a while please promise me you'll try..."

Mary shakes her head and mutters to her husband.

"This does nothing for my nerves, John."

"Don't fret, darling."

Upon hearing the dismissive whispering, Molly finds herself filled with new sense of confidence in herself. She'd prove them wrong. She sings out loudly and clearly.

"When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free, if you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me..."

Stunned silence.

Rapturous applause.

"Get her fitted for the costumes immediately!"

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Molly! Molly you were wonderful!" Meg squeals as she leaves the stage after the final curtain.

"And you Meg, you danced beautifully! All of you did!"

Molly looks down at the bouquet of roses in her arms and begins handing a bloom to each of the dancers.

"You were all magnificent, well done!"

"Yes Molly, you did well..." Mrs Hudson appears to address the girls, "And YOU! You were a disgrace! Such ronds de jambe! Such temps de cuisse! Here we rehearse. Now!"

Molly shakes her head fondly at the ballet mistress, and moves slowly downstage away from the dancers, towards her dressing room. Meg follows, not that Molly notices. As her hand is hovering over the doorknob, she hears something. A voice. Distant...almost ethereal...a male voice...she's sure she's just making it up.

"Brava! Brava! Bravissima!"

She shakes her head, utterly bewildered. No, she's hearing things. She turns suddenly, and yelps right into the face of Meg.

"Meg! You frightened me!"

Sorry Molly! Oh but Molly! Where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you were perfect! I only wish I knew your secret, who is this new tutor?"

Molly turns from her and enters the dressing room, which is filled with flowers from admirers after her debut performance. When she replies, her tone is disjointed, trance-like.

"Father once spoke of an angel...and...forgive me if I sound odd...I used to dream he'd appear...and you'll probably think I'm crazy but when I sing I can sense him, and I know he's there, watching me. Here in this room he calls me softly, somewhere inside hiding..." She sits down at her dressing table with a heavy sigh, "Somehow I know he's always with me, he the unseen genius..."

Meg places her hands on her friend's shoulders.

"Molly you must have been dreaming...you know stories like that can't come true...come now, it's not like you to speak in such riddles..."

She knew Meg would think her mad. Her angel was real! He was real, she knew it, and he was there with them!

"Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory...Angel of music hide no longer...secret and strange angel..."

Molly reaches up and takes Meg's hands.

"He's with me even now."

"Your hands are cold...gosh Molly, you're so pale..."

"It frightens me..."

"Don't be frightened..." 

There's a short, sharp knock at the door, and Mrs Hudson enters.

"Meg Hudson! Are you a dancer! Come and practice at once!"

Meg looks at her mother dejectedly then scampers away past her out the door, not even daring to look up.

"Molly? The young Lord Moriarty is on his way to see you, he asked me to let you know this."

The brown haired girl doesn't pay attention. She's staring off into space again. She doesn't notice Mrs Hudson leave, and isn't aware that James has entered the room until he speaks and she hears his light, Irish lilt.

"Miss Molly...how long has it been, ten years?"

She jumps, startled by the sudden male voice. She quickly turns to look at him.

"Oh James, so it is you!"

"Last we met I was eight years old and soaked to the skin!"

"Because you'd gone into the sea to fetch my scarf, oh you remember!"

"How could I forget? Little Molly let her mind wander..."

"You remember that too!"

"And she thought: Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins or shoes..."

"Or of riddles or frocks!"

"Or those picnics in the attic, or of chocolates?"

Molly sighs at the memories as they come rushing back to her.

"Father playing the violin..."

James grins. Oh how he's missed this girl all these years.

"As we read to each other dark stories of the north..."

"But what I loved most of all was when the Angel of Music sings songs in my head..."

Molly stands up, rushing forward to embrace him. They embraced silently for a few seconds, before she takes a tiny step back.

"Father said: 'When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you'...and...well...father is dead, James...and I have been visited by the Angel of Music!"

"Oh no doubt of it, you songbird! And now, we go to supper!

Molly looks alarmed and backs away quickly.

"No James, the Angel of Music is very strict! I can't..."

"I shan't keep you up too late!"

"No, James, no!"

"You must change, I must get my hat. Two minutes!"

He hurries out, leaving her to herself in the dressing room. No, she mustn't go with him, her angel would be disappointed. But, God. She want to, how she wanted to. She picks up her hand mirror, resigned, and whispers.

"Things have changed, James..."

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a comment and tell me what you think, there's loads more to come!


End file.
